The Root of All Evil

burn on, nueron -
synaptic lapses
compact happens'.

fire clouds
cry why aloud
while found
smile sound.

no know
in moment,
so grow
to bolden
in them.

make sents've
all've thems,
best intents -
few of 'em.
e pluribus unum

Finding the Way (to the bathroom in the middle of the night)

...suddenly standing amidst Still pitch black,

my inclination assumes rooms like Cellars and atticts:
fear Is automatic, Expectations Never sweet,
Chance of Existing peacefully is so very bleak.

Feeling my way Eliminates much Anticipation,
calculation, Regret and even confidence -
what is at hand in the darkness i.e.
the moment arm while lacking illumination.

the lights Have to go On,
with some Probability, Eventually

KelCel